Читать книгу The Unexpected Bride - Debra Ullrick - Страница 8

Paradise Haven, Idaho Territory

1874

If Rainelle Devonwood’s mother knew what she was about to do, she would roll over in her grave.

Grave.

That one word ripped at Rainee’s heart, but she refused to cry in the presence of the strangers surrounding her. She lowered her head and pressed her fingers over her eyelids in hopes of holding back the flood of tears.

Oh, Mother, you would be astonished to know what I have done. But even you would understand why I did it. If only you and Father were still alive. Then I would still be at home, living without pain and suffering. But, Mother. I had to leave. I just had to.

In the small confines of the dusty stagecoach, only one thing gave Rainee a measure of peace about her drastic decision—her betrothed had assured her he loved the Lord. Otherwise she would have never gone through with her plans to marry a complete stranger.

The uncertainty of what was about to take place, and the constant cigar smoke from the gentleman sitting across from her, caused her stomach to become unwell. Rainee pressed her hand over her mouth and leaned her head out the window, silently praying the Lord would help her stomach’s contents to settle and help to divert her attention elsewhere.

Dust crowded into her nose. That is not quite what I had in mind, Lord. She covered her mouth and sneezed. Her eyes started watering from all the dirt particles, but with her stomach still threatening to purge itself, she decided to deal with the discomfort a few moments longer. She blinked away the particles of debris from her eyes as she studied her surroundings.

Rolling green meadows disappeared into the forest at the base of the mountains. Blue skies stretched before her. Several yards away, a rabbit leapt high in the air and landed in the tall bunchgrass. It did the same thing three times. And each time Rainee giggled at its silly antics.

When her stomach stopped churning, she settled back into her seat.

The stagecoach hit a rut, yanking her body sideways and slamming her shoulder into the lady next to her. “I am so sorry, ma’am.”

Sleepy eyes glanced at Rainee before sliding shut. How could the woman slumber through so much jostling? Rainee envied her.

Days and days of being jostled about, first on the train when she left Little Rock, Arkansas, and now even more so on the stagecoach heading to the Idaho Territory, were taking its toll on her overtaxed body. Rainee rolled her head from side to side, pressed her palm against her aching side, and shifted in the seat for the twentieth time in the past few minutes.

Horses’ pounding hooves, jingling tack and squeaking leather were the only sounds she had heard for miles upon miles until Daniel, the stagecoach assistant, leaned his blond head near the window. “Only a few more minutes, folks, before we arrive at our destination.”

A destination Rainee wanted to avoid but knew she could not because her very life and sanity depended on it.

Within minutes, she would soon meet her betrothed.

Her betrothed.

She still could not believe she was about to be married.

To a complete stranger.

But then again, if Haydon Bowen turned out to be even half as nice as his letters had made him sound, with the help of God’s grace and a passel of mercy, her life might not end up so dreadful after all. Anything had to be better than her current situation.

Or was it?

A horrid thought fluttered through her mind. What if the man she was about to wed was not the gentleman he had portrayed himself to be?

Merciful heavens, what had she done?

You ordered what?

Haydon Bowen’s own words rang through his brain like the continual clang of a church bell. How could Jesse, his own brother, do this to him, knowing he never wanted to marry again? Knowing marriage to his deceased wife had been a disaster. The hour-and-a-half ride from his family’s ranch in Paradise Haven to the stagecoach stop in Prosperity Mountain had done little to abate his frustration. Anger over Jesse’s latest outlandish scheme clung to him like trail dirt on a sweaty body.

After reining his draft horses to a stop, Haydon pressed his booted foot on the wagon brake. He sat stone still, dreading the task before him, wishing he could forget this whole thing and hightail it back to the ranch. But wishing wasn’t going to change a thing. He raised his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

Knowing he couldn’t put off the unpleasant mission any longer, he hopped down from the buckboard. As he went to wrap the reins around the brake handle he heard the stern sound of a woman’s voice coming from the direction of the stagecoach platform. “Unhand me this instant.”

“Aw, I jist wanna little bitty kiss.” The man’s barely intelligible words slurred together.

Haydon tied off the reins and headed around the corner of the depot to see what was going on. He rounded it just in time to see a petite lady in a frilly lavender dress kick some shoddy-looking man in the shin with the toe of her laced-up boot. It took Haydon so by surprise that he had to stifle a laugh.

“Ouch! Why you little—” Filthy words poured from the scruffy man’s mouth. He yanked the woman close to his sweaty, grime-stained body, his face a mere inch from hers.

The woman managed to jerk back and swing her unopened parasol in a wide arc, striking the man’s head. That only served to anger him more, and he yanked her close again.

He’d seen enough. Haydon leapt up the wooden step, took five steps to cross it, grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and shoved him away. “You heard the lady. Unhand her. Now!”

The man landed in a crumpled heap, but quicker than the snap of a whip, he darted back and rammed his head into Haydon’s gut. All air fled from his lungs. He doubled over and struggled to pull in a breath. His hat slid from his head and onto the ground.

The man punched Haydon’s face, causing him to stumble backward. Sharp pain pulled through his nose, and his eyes watered.

His attacker lunged toward him, but Haydon sidestepped him.

The man slammed against the wooden planks face-first.

Haydon jumped on him, yanked his arms behind his back, and pressed his knee between the man’s shoulders.

Squirming, the man tried to break free, but Haydon held him in a tight grip.

“Ben! Pack your things and get out of town now!”

Haydon’s gaze jumped up to a tall man with a shiny badge splayed against a black leather vest.

“I warned you if you caused any more trouble, I’d run you out of town. I mean to keep my promise. Now get out of here and don’t ever show your face around here again.”

Haydon stood and hauled the man the sheriff called Ben to his feet. When he released him, the only way to describe what he saw in his beady eyes was evil intent. It tried to curl its way around Haydon, but he shook it off like he would a snake crawling on his hand.

“This won’t be the last you’ll hear from me,” Ben hissed. He scooped up his sweat-stained hat and slammed it on his greasy head. “You an’ yore lady friend’ll be sorry you ever messed with me!”

“That’s enough!” The sheriff aimed his pistol at Ben’s heart and cocked it. “Whether you go peacefully or draped over a saddle makes no difference to me. The choice is yours.” Wrinkles gathered around the lawman’s narrowed eyes, and his burly mustache buried his lips.

Haydon swung his gaze between the sheriff and Ben, not at all sure that he and the lady weren’t about to witness a deadly showdown at point-blank range.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Ben spat as he lifted his hands in the air.

The lawman gave a quick jerk of his head and gun, motioning Ben forward. The two of them headed down the boardwalk. Their boots clunked against the wooden planks, and neither of them looked back.

Haydon relaxed his shoulders for a full two seconds, until he remembered the lady. He let out a quick breath and turned toward her. Seeing her stooped over, he snatched up his hat and hurried over to her. “Are you all right, Miss?”

Like a well-trained woman of society, she rose gracefully and faced him. Having grown up with the socially elite, he recognized one when he saw one. And she was definitely one.

“Yes, sir, I am.” Her lavender plumed hat tilted back, and she looked up at him. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Haydon’s pulse throbbed in his ears and his breath hitched. Staring up at him were the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen, soft as a doe’s hide. The color reminded Haydon of a whitetail fawn, complete with white specks. Thick but not overly long lashes spread across her eyelids. And that Southern accent. It skipped across his heart before drilling right down into him.

“Merciful heavens. Your nose is bleeding.” She opened the little beaded bag hanging from her wrist, pulled out a lace hanky and raised it toward his nose.

He yanked his head back. “Don’t soil your hanky.” He reached into his inside vest pocket and removed his handkerchief, then pressed it against his nostrils, ignoring the pain the gesture produced. Confident he’d gotten all the blood, he folded his handkerchief and shoved it back into his vest.

“I am so sorry, sir, you were injured on account of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

She studied him for a moment, and he squirmed under her scrutiny. “Would you happen to be Mr. Bowen?” Her drawn out words, mixed with a tremor, snapped Haydon back to reality. No matter how beautiful she was, she was still a woman. The last time he had fallen for a beautiful woman, not only had he ruined her life, but also his.

He slammed his hat onto his head and stepped back. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Haydon Bowen.”

She daintily clasped her skirt and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Rainelle Victoria Devonwood. But please call me Rainee.”

He knew his eyes had to be popping out of their sockets, but he couldn’t help himself. This little beauty placed an advertisement for a husband? Someone who looked like her and bled confidence? His eyes narrowed. What was wrong with her that no one had claimed her for his own? She’s a woman, Haydon. That’s reason enough.

Slanting her pretty little head, she blinked several times before her eyes snapped onto his. Innocence clothed her face, making her even more of a threat.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Why did she have to have eyes that penetrated the very depths of his soul, connecting with that spot he had purposely kept shut off for years?

He broke eye contact with her. He didn’t want her or anyone else invading that private place. Nor did he want her coming home with him. Think, Haydon, think fast. Maybe he could buy her a one-way ticket home and set her up in a hotel here in Prosperity Mountain until the next stagecoach came around.

He scanned the mining town. Several men stood in front of the saloon with their arms crossed and their legs spread, gawking at Miss Devonwood as if they hadn’t eaten in days and she was a fresh piece of meat. Prosperity Mountain was definitely no place to leave a lady without an escort. Women were scarce around these parts, and too many men were less than honorable. From what he had experienced, the place overflowed with raucous silver miners and thieves who wouldn’t hesitate to steal a person’s silver or something even more valuable—a woman’s virtue.

With a sideways glance, he battled with what to do. Frustration toward Jesse for putting him in this mess seeped through his mind again like a deadly poison. His brother should be dealing with this. Not him. But that wasn’t going to happen. The sight of Jess unconscious on the floor of the barn slashed through Haydon, and he detested Jess all the more for making him so angry he had lost his composure, and flanked his horse. Haydon knew better than to touch a horse’s flank; spurring that tender spot between a horse’s ribs and hips was bad enough, and yet he had not only kicked it without meaning to, he had also hit it hard enough that it caused Rebel to rear and knock Jesse unconscious. Haydon still felt badly about that.

With Jess injured, it was now up to Haydon to do what he had to do to keep this woman safe. No gentleman would do anything less. And if Haydon was anything, he prided himself on being a gentleman. Most of the time anyway.

His chest heaved at the idea of being in such close proximity to the flaxen-haired beauty on the long ride back to the ranch. It was the last place he wanted to be. But he would not leave her here, not even to save himself the trouble.

Rainee locked her knees to keep them from giving out. What kind of ruffians filled this desolate land anyway? Why, if Mr. Bowen had not come along when he had, she did not know what might have happened to her. Just thinking about it made her shudder.

As he stared forward, Rainee took the opportunity to study him. Her gaze landed on his arms.

Arms that had easily plucked away her attacker.

Mountainous arms that drew her attention and admiration.

Rainee knew she should look away, knowing if her mother were here, she would reprimand her for her blatant impropriety. But she found she could not help herself. Nor did she want to. The bulges beneath his pale blue shirtsleeves captivated her attention as did the width of his broad shoulders and chest.

Her eyes moved to his firm jaw, and she watched in fascination as the muscle in his jaw worked back and forth. Something about the strength of it set her heart all aflutter.

“Do you need anything before we go, Miss Devonwood?”

She whipped her gaze up to his eyes. Warmth rushed to her cheeks. From the icy tone of his voice, he must have seen her gawking at him.

Perhaps he was agitated because of her blunder in telling him to call her by her Christian name. That was far too forward of her, even if this man was to be her husband. Would she ever learn?

How she despised all those ridiculous rules of etiquette and propriety. Aristocratic rules her British father insisted they follow and her Southern mother had taken pride in enforcing. But, she refused to distress herself further about her social blunder because there was nothing she could do about it now anyway.

“It’s a good hour and a half before we get to Paradise Haven. Would you like to get something to eat before we head out?”

Rainee loved the deep sound of his voice. Even though his mannerisms at present were somewhat aloof, some of her doubts about coming here eased. After all, Mr. Bowen had rescued her from that vile man with the overpowering stench and yellow teeth. Not to mention his looks were far superior to those of any man she had ever encountered. Granted, she knew from experience looks could be deceiving, but still, his sapphire eyes and blond hair were quite pleasing to her eyes. In fact, the color reminded her of her father’s eyes. Immediately Rainee regretted the comparison. Her heart yearned for her father—to be held in his arms again and to feel the security his protection and love provided.

The back of her eyes stung, but she plucked up her courage, knowing crying would solve nothing.

She forced herself to focus on the gentleman in front of her. “Thank you, but no. I am fine, sir.” Even if she had need of anything, it would be far too humiliating to inform him she was penniless because some scoundrel at the last stagecoach stop had stolen her money. Good thing she had already purchased her ticket for the last trek of her journey. Otherwise she shuddered to think what might have become of her.

For the millionth time, Rainee wished she had secured her funds underneath her skirt. Her personal maid and dear friend Jenetta had advised her to do so, but once again Rainee’s stubbornness had overruled any such logic.

Many times her father had warned her that her stubbornness would get her into trouble one day. He feared he would not be able to secure a husband for her because of her flawed temperament. Inwardly Rainee sighed. So far, Father was right. Well, that was not entirely accurate. Many a man had pursued her. Not because of any burst of feeling toward her but because of her father’s money. Except one man. And she would rather go live with savage Indians than marry him.

Mr. Bowen cleared his throat. She looked up at him.

“That your trunk?”

“Yes.” Rainee glanced at the medium-size chest containing everything she owned. With a weighty sigh, she decided to not think about what and whom she had been forced to leave behind. It was all too vexing. And so was this man’s aloofness toward her. Gone was the warmness his letters contained. Perhaps his journey had tired him. That she understood. Tiredness had seeped into her bones until every part of her ached with fatigue.

She watched him lift the trunk as if it weighed no more than one of the plumes on her hat. He stepped off the platform and headed around the corner of the stagecoach stop. Rainee followed him, careful to keep her eyes anywhere but on his retreating form. One glimpse of his leg muscles had been enough to make her chastise herself for acting like a wanton woman instead of the lady she had been brought up to be.

Once her belongings were secured on the wagon, he headed to the front of the buckboard where she stood, and he extended his hand.

Rainee glanced at his large palm, admiring the strength of it, then looked up at him. Impatience covered his face. She quickly placed her satchel and parasol on the wagon seat, then settled her hand in his, allowing him to help her onto the wagon. She arranged the bustle of her dress and sat, then snatched her satchel and parasol off of the seat and placed them in her lap. “Thank you, sir.”

He responded with a curt nod.

Turning her head away from him, she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and whistle away the awkwardness. She knew their meeting would be uncomfortable, but she had not anticipated it being quite this bad. Then again, what did she expect? That the moment he laid eyes on her, he would declare his undying love and sweep her off her feet, and they would live happily ever after?

Hah. In a pig’s eye. She shuttered at the expression. It must be the length of the trip or the hot sun or the man readying the horses and the wagon—something—because every thought she had was taking her places she did not want to go.

Besides, those kinds of things only happened in the dime novels she and her best friend used to sneak into her room and read. Until the day her mother had discovered them. After a long lecture, she forced Rainee to toss them into the fire. It broke her heart watching the edges curl into black ashes. They were her only reprieve from the stuffy social world she lived in, a world overrun with rules of proper etiquette, rules she had a hard time obeying because they all seemed so meaningless and empty.

The wagon seat dipped, jolting Rainee’s mind from past shadows. She looped the handle of her satchel over her wrist and opened her parasol, careful to keep it out of Mr. Bowen’s way. Careful to keep herself out of his way as well.

His arm brushed against hers, and his broad shoulders took up a goodly portion of the now cramped seat.

Leather, trail dust, and a scent that reminded her of her father after he had shaved drifted up her nostrils. More reminders of home. A home that no longer existed.

Once again, she could not believe she was about to marry a complete stranger. One she had placed an advertisement for. That act alone was scandalous. Claws of dread pierced her insides as she realized once again what she had done. The need for air threatened to swallow her up, but she sat up straighter and fought for every breath. No fainting spell would overtake her. Not this time. Though they had been a problem in the past, she vowed as of this moment she would fight them with all her might.

Mr. Bowen snapped the reins. The wagon lurched forward and Rainee clutched the side of the seat to keep from jostling into him, but her shoulder collided with his anyway, and their eyes connected and held for the briefest of moments.

Long after he turned away, however, the memory of his eyes the color of sparkling sapphires stayed with her. Eyes that were handsome but held no warmth. Only a sort of detachment and something else she could not identify. This was going to be a very long ride indeed.

Haydon couldn’t wait to deliver the woman to his brother. This well-bred, beautiful woman sitting next to him was the kind he now avoided like poison ivy because they were shallow and cared about nothing but fancy balls and frippery. Appearance and financial status were everything to them. And he’d had his fill of that type of woman.

“Mr. Bowen.”

He wanted to ignore her but his conscience and upbringing wouldn’t allow him to be rude. “Yes?” Haydon gave her a quick glance.

“You said in one of your letters you lived in Paradise Haven with your family.”

His body tensed. He didn’t write those letters, so he had no idea of their contents. No knowledge about what her response had been. What her advertisement was about. Haydon shifted his weight and ran his thumbs over the leather reins.

He looked toward the mountain dotted with several clapboard buildings and mining shafts as he struggled with what to say or do, wishing he could flee into one of those mines and hide out until this whole mess was over and done with.

“Would you mind telling me about them?” Her soft voice was a tad shaky, but her asking spoke of a confidence he couldn’t deny.

He let out a breath of relief. At least that he could answer. “My brother Jesse is twenty.” He glanced at her, then back at the dirt road. “His wife’s name is Hannah. They’re expecting their first child in a few months. They have their own place on the ranch. My brother Michael is sixteen. My sister Leah is thirteen and Abby is five. They live in the big house with my mother.”

“What about you? Where do you live?” Words poured from her mouth like thick honey. Sweetness and innocence surrounded this woman. This woman he wanted to get away from as quickly as possible, he reminded himself. Even though she seemed harmless enough, he knew just how deceiving appearances could be. His former wife Melanie had taught him that. The dread of going through something like that again twisted his gut tighter than a three-stranded rope.

“I have my own place on the ranch.” Concerned she would start asking him more questions, he decided to ask her about her home life instead. He only prayed it wasn’t something she had already shared in the letters or her advertisement because then he would have to inform her that he wasn’t the one who had sent for her. And he wasn’t going to do that. That was Jesse’s job. “What part of the South are you from?” he asked, keeping his eyes forward.

Talons of fear scraped up and down Rainee’s body. How did he know she was from the South? She had not told him that in her letters or her advertisement. She had even gone so far as to have one of her friends post her letters and advertisement in Chicago.

What should she tell him? Not one to tell falsehoods, she would have to choose her words carefully. She gathered her courage and forced herself to look at him.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps you aren’t from the South. I just assumed with your accent that you were. But then again—” he rubbed his chin “—your mannerisms remind me of some of our neighbors back East. They were British.”

Rainee’s muscles relaxed.

“My Father was raised in England, and my mother was raised in the South.” Before he could ask her any further questions, she plucked up her courage to say what she had wanted to say back at Prosperity Mountain. “Mr. Bowen, I know you must think it quite strange for a woman to post an advertisement in search of a husband. But please believe me when I say I had no other choice.”

Her brother had seen to that.